Trials
by The Zazu
Summary: “NO!” shrieked Hermione, and with a deafening blast from her wand, Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly stirring body of Lavender Brown. [DH, page 646] The trials of one Lavender Brown, werewolf, from the Final Battle and onwards.
1. Fight and Fall

I. Fight and Fall

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! PROTEGO!!_"

Her voice was growing hoarse from the repetition of spells. Two Death Eaters glided towards her, their masks torn and revealing their malicious smirks. Her hand shook badly as she fired a Body-Binding Curse at the first; the curse missed its mark. Lavender Brown backed up slowly, desperately looking for a way to escape. There was no way she could take two trained Death Eaters by herself. Lavender bit her lip and forced her arm to steady. She couldn't give up just yet, not when she worked so hard the whole year to prepare!

"_Tarantallegra!_" she cried out desperately. A beam of orange light shot out from her wand and, to her utmost relief, hit one of the Death Eaters. His feet began to twist into an insane dance. The expression on his face was murderous, and his companion drew closer. Lavender, frozen in terror, watched him murmur a spell under his breath. Never in her life had imagined herself at the heart of _any_ battle. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she and brought up a shield. The petite Gryffindor stumbled backwards with the impact of the spell, painfully hitting the banister behind her. _Nowhere to run_. Lavender started to shake, unable to form an appropriate spell. "_Expelliarmus!_" She uttered weakly. The Death Eaters were too fast, however, and already had blocked it. Shockingly, their shield reflected the spell back at her. Her eyes widened as she watched her wand was wrenched from her hand. It clattered helplessly onto the floor. She was too slow… Lavender grabbed the banister with her free arm, as if hoping the stone support would lend her the strength she needed.

"_REDUCTO!_" the dancing Death Eater shrieked gleefully, eager to get his revenge. He knew the girl had nowhere else to turn. Lavender clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. 'Please don't hurt, please don't hurt,' she echoed in her mind. She heard the clattering of footsteps coming towards her. Was it help? Lavender dared not to hope. A heavy force slammed into her side, but there was, strangely, none of the pain she expected, just perhaps a shortness of breath from the impact. Lavender tentatively opened her eyes, preparing herself for the worst. However, no matter how she steeled herself, Lavender Brown didn't expect to see the person now in front of her.

"Seamus?" she whispered. His face was badly scratched and bruised, a trickle of blood dripping from a cut on his lips. The sandy-haired boy mustered a quick smile and stood up, offering Lavender a hand as he did. 'Seamus has certainly changed a lot this year,' she mused, accepting his help. Seamus opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he grabbed Lavender to his body protectively, as if bracing himself.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

"_Crucio!_"

They had let their guards down too soon. As the attacks hit them, Lavender heard Seamus scream loudly, almost like the banshees he feared in their third year. Then there was quiet, and Lavender thought no more as everything dissolved into a blur of colours and searing pain.

-

Lavender was falling.

She had the vague sensation of nothingness surrounding her. Slowly, as her senses regained their functions, Lavender felt air whipping past her. Maybe she was flying. The Gryffindor watched the colours dance in her eyes. It hurt too much to check. What had happened? _Death Eaters_. The colours finally began to coalesce into a picture; the shattered banister was moving father and farther away from her. Shock barely registered over the pain. No, she was still falling.

The sounds of war drifted to her. Spells were shouted and screams pierced the air. Almost idly, Lavender wondered where Parvati was fighting. Her friend was a tough one, for all the girlish airs with which she generally carried herself. Lavender observed her somewhat long, brown hair whip around her face like streamers.

And suddenly her body stopped. She felt the comforting hardness of the floor against her back. Lavender attempted to sit up, but immediately fell back to the ground. It felt like there was a dagger running up and down her spine and a boulder pounding her skull. Lavender stared at the Hogwarts ceiling, the sky dark and mutinous. 'It's almost as if Hogwarts knows what is happening,' she thought. Once again, the sharp buzz of pain drew her from her thoughts. Something wet trickled into her mouth. Blood. She spat it out, disgusted and frightened. She hoped it wasn't someone else's blood, but at least her own.

_Seamus_. Her chest tightened as she thought about how he shielded her, taking the brunt of the two curses. Oh, she had to look for him… make sure he was alright… Lavender stirred feebly, trying to shift herself into a position where she could look for her saviour. It was difficult to ignore the pain.

Lavender became aware of the bloodshed around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor Flitwick taking down two Death Eaters. Cho Chang shuddered in front of her, hit by a nasty-looking curse that sent her back a few paces. On the peripheral of her vision, she saw a large figure bounding into view. Who – or what – was it?

There was no time to even think, let alone act. Not that it would have made a difference; Lavender was both wandless and incapacitated. She felt the creature's hot breath against her skin. Lavender squirmed, attempting to escape its iron grasp. The girl fell limp, staring helplessly at the malicious red eyes above her. Lavender choked on her own vomit, seeing all the blood matting the werewolf's fur. It was all over now.

The last thing Lavender remembered was the dangerous flash of white teeth, a gnawing pain in her side, and the creature's growl of pleasure.

-

_Author's Note_: I distinctly remember that scene from Deathly Hallows – the one where Hermione sees two figures fall over the banister and Fenrir Greyback darts to the fallen, only to be blasted away. A reviewer just mentioned that Lupin was not in wolf form, yet in the book Rowling does mention Greyback was sinking his teeth into the fallen victims. Does that mean he was necessarily in werewolf form? I guess not. This is solely my interpretation of Rowling's work, and maybe it's incorrect:) This piece, hopefully, will become multi-chaptered. In any case, I haven't delved into the world of Harry Potter fanfiction in a while. Any constructive (not cutting!) criticism is greatly appreciated. :)


	2. Repercussions

II. Repercussions

The brightness hurt. She closed her eyes, but the artificial rays of light still seemed to pierce through her eyelids. Her mother once told her, quite clearly, never to look at the sun. Lavender tried to turn her head away. It wouldn't move. Panic swelled in her chest. Could she get up? The young woman tried to lift an arm. It, too, would not move. Lavender struggled to sit up without any avail; she was left gasping for breath and plain, undiluted pain. She tentatively tried to open her eyes against the white, blinding light. It burned. Lavender screamed shrilly, hyperventilating and fearful. Where in Merlin's name was she?

She heard footsteps rush to her. "Lavender, _Lavender_," a soft, calming voice whispered emphatically. "What's wrong? We are here to help, shhh," It sounded like a very educated woman, judging by her careful enunciation. Lavender felt a cool, dry hand fall on her forehead and gently stroke it. It was a motherly gesture, and Lavender could feel the security. She fell silent, throat now hoarse from the over-exertion. The fear still bubbled in the veins, and the light-pain was still there, but at least she was safe. Hopefully.

"She probably figured out what she _was_," a male voice spat. The disgust was evident. Lavender wanted to curl up or run away. Most of all, she wanted to know what was _wrong_. She was only Lavender Brown, right? She could almost feel the terse silence in the room. The gentle hand stopped stroking her forehead.

"I will _not_ tolerate such—such _idiocy_ in _my_ ward, _Trainee_. A patient is a patient, and if you think that St. Mungo's will deny any care to any witch or wizard I will see to it that you are booted from the Healer's Training Program without further ado. Prejudices do _not_ belong in the hospital," the woman spoke firmly. "Besides, I didn't see _you_ fighting at Hogwarts," the woman snapped. "Out!"

After a moment, Lavender vaguely heard the steps fade away. "Sorry, Lavender, about that. Now, what is bothering you?" the voice was again quiet and assured.

Lavender opened to her mouth to speak. It took her a few tries to at least produce some sort of sound. "Li-ght hurts eye," she croaked brokenly, voice feeling rusty with such abrupt disuse. "Where…?" Lavender waited for an answer, before realising belatedly the answer had been already given in the tirade just moments earlier. She sighed. The faster the answers came, the faster the pain would dissipate. Maybe.

"_Nox_. Now, isn't that better? You have been taking many potions, and extreme light-sensitivity is definitely a side-effect. I admit, I hadn't expected you to be up so quickly, but I am glad. You suffered more than a bit of wear and tear!" Lavender could almost feel the warmth of the woman's smile. "I nearly forgot! I am Healer Marjorie Hipworth, one of the Healers in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites, St. Mungo's. You, my dear, definitely stood your ground at the Battle of Hogwarts, from the accounts I have heard. However, you suffered much damage to your neck and spine from your fall, and also, you had severe wounds from Fenrir Greyback's attack. Thank Merlin, he's done with… Well, in any case, you will be here for a little while longer, until you…" Healer Hipworth suddenly sounded hesitant, "…fully recover."

Hipworth quickly recovered. "Now that you are up, we can remove these restraints, see. However, the neck brace has to stay. Any movement will undo the spellwork keeping your spine straight. You took quite a beating from that fall," the woman explained. "I'll have to get going in a few moments to update your chart and check on the other patients, but I want you to slowly open your eyes and at least get comfortable with the dark. When we begin weaning you off the potions, we'll slowly increase the intensity of the light in the room. Now, drink this – it will help ease the pain," Hipworth paused. Lavender felt a flask held to her mouth and gulped the peach-flavoured liquid obediently. The Healer then added, "However, do _not_ by any means strain yourself and I want to you go to sleep in a little while, is that clear?"

"Yes," Lavender managed, feeling very overwhelmed and tired. It was almost as if she was in Herbology, her worst subject. She had always had more of a black, than green, thumb. Lavender heard an authoritative swish, and then Healer Hipworth was gone.

Lavender lay numbly on her bed, trying to summon enough energy to sit up. She didn't quite remember just what happened at Hogwarts, not yet anyway. Cautiously, Lavender opened her eyes. After she became accustomed to the dark, she studied what appeared to be her very own private room. There was a window on one side, on her left, overlooking the hospital garden. It was lovely, and Lavender did always appreciate pretty things. There was a plain wardrobe and dressers to her right. There were a few chairs around her and a night table with a vase of very fresh looking flowers and cards. She was curious to see who they were from, but her hands couldn't quite reach from her angle. Oh, well. Lavender decided to ask later.

In the process of reaching for the cards, she noticed red welts lining the whole circumference of her wrists, like two very ugly bracelets. 'From the restraints,' she thought, feeling somewhat panicked all of a sudden. _Why?_ Lavender wanted to know. 'Maybe I was moving too much. Maybe it was for my own good,' she reassured herself mentally. But a much darker thought interrupted nastily, 'They were restraining what you are. Making sure you aren't dangerous to them.' Lavender bit her lip. That couldn't be it. Again, her thoughts brought her to the same question: what had happened?

She had no time to investigate that line of thought. It seemed that Healer Hipworth had added a measure of a sleeping draught to the potion to ensure that she got her rest soon. Lavender's eyes eventually fluttered shut.

Lavender dreamt of flashing white shards raining on her and bright explosions that knocked the heaviness away from her chest.

-

"I don't think she'll be awake for a while…" a male voice trailed off. "Maybe we could just… come back some other time? I mean, it wasn't like the two of you were best of mates and all of that good business, so there is no need to perch by her bedside every free moment you get!"

"Oh, _honestly_. It doesn't matter whether or not we were the best of mates or not. Even though Lavender was always a bit of a… er, drama queen, I think is the term, she does have a good heart. I don't think you saw her fighting, even though she looked scared witless. Also, you _know_, Neville's said she's been working very hard for Dumbledore's Army, and all that. If you want to go, leave. In any case, I was going to ask you to go when she came around. Healer Hipworth believes I'm the one who should tell her… Of all people, it should have been Professor Lupin…" The young woman fell quiet. Her companion wrapped an arm around her shoulder comfortingly.

Lavender slowly awakened, yawning softly. A few days had passed since she had finally regained consciousness. Within a couple of days she would be released from the hospital. She blinked blearily until the figures in front of her regained their clarity. Lavender frowned seeing the first figure. Ron Weasley. "You have the nerve to come here after acting like the hugest berk in world?" she exclaimed disbelievingly. Yes, they broke up over a year ago, but Lavender definitely did _not_ want to be reminded of that relationship. She knew that Ron liked Hermione, and yet she still threw herself headlong into a few months of groping and snogging galore. Lavender grimaced. The long-haired girl couldn't believe she was _so_ immature then. Lavender quickly collected herself after seeing the somewhat shocked expression on both Hermione's and Ron's faces. "Er, yes. I don't exactly have a rose-coloured view of him, you see," she said lamely, trying to save her grace. After all, Lavender did love visitors. A badly scarred Parvati did visit a few times, but Lavender knew that her friend was more preoccupied with her comatose twin, Padma. "Anyway, you two can sit, if you like…" Lavender gestured towards to the chairs.

Ron flushed slightly, embarrassed by Lavender's statement. He motioned to the door. "I… I think I'm going to visit Perce, now. Make sure he is alright and all that," he muttered, before rushing out of the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know what to do with him sometimes," she sighed, sitting down.

"There doesn't have to be an answer for everything, you know," Lavender commented sagely. She was insanely curious to find out why her Hogwarts roommate was there. They'd always been amicable, but never exactly bosom buddies. "So, er. How are things? How is everyone doing?" Well, someone had to start the conversation.

The bushy-haired girl smiled slightly. "Things… are getting better. The first few days everyone was celebrating Voldemort's death. Harry duelled him and won," she explained quickly. "Just in case you didn't know already. And, well… A lot of people were injured or killed, especially from our House. Colin Creevey… Demelza Robins…" Hermione's voice now broke, as she continued, "F-Fred Weasley… to name a few…"

Lavender blanched. That couldn't be true, could it? She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears. She _knew_ these people. It didn't matter _how_ well, really. It still hurt. Lavender saw tears welling up in Hermione's eyes as well. The girl knew Hermione was close to the Weasleys. Somewhat tentatively, Lavender reached out and placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione looked up gave Lavender a watery, yet surprised, smile. "Tissue?" Lavender commented as brightly as she could, conjuring a box with her wand. Now that she was getting better, the Healers let her practice some magic, just as long as it wasn't too strenuous. Thankfully, Charms was her strongest subject. Lavender noticed the slightly impressed look on Hermione's face and felt smug. 'Bet she didn't think I could do _that_!'

"Thank you, Lavender," the slender witch said gratefully, blowing her nose noisily. "It is still really hard…" Lavender nodded understandingly. "Anyway, that really isn't the reason I'm here," Hermione continued. She then gave Lavender a very curious look. "Before I start, do you remember what happened to you?"

Lavender faltered slightly. She did not remember everything, yet. "I remember bits and pieces," she said quietly. "I remember the Death Eaters attacking, Seamus protecting me, and falling through the banister. After that, things are a little fuzzy. I remember something breathing on me, but that's about it, unfortunately. Healer Hipworth says that Fenrir Greyback attacked me, but with what? She didn't quite say." The young woman frowned and looked at her small hands. "Hermione, do you know what happened to me? There has to be a reason why only Healer Hipworth treats me and everyone else seems to always be in a hurry… Someone said that…" She again faltered, unsure whether to divulge everything to Hermione. The bushy-haired witch nodded encouragingly. "On the first day I woke up, I was screaming because I was sensitive to the lights, because of all the potions I was taking. But then, one of the trainees – I don't know his name – said that I was probably screaming because I knew what I… was. And I noticed that they had restrained me, too, as if I was going to hurt myself, or even worse, hurt _them_." Suddenly, Lavender felt very vulnerable and awkward. She wasn't used to having such deep conversations. The brown-haired girl noticed that Hermione was giving her a sad look. "What?" she demanded. "Tell me!"

Her former roommate looked at her firmly, her expression very direct. "I will fill in the holes for you, Lavender, but _please_ promise me that you will not interrupt. Some of this is going to be a bit… shocking. Healer Hipworth said I was the best one to tell you all of this… I don't think so, but I will definitely try my best." Lavender nodded quickly, too eager to find out the true story. At the same time, she felt slightly apprehensive.

"I was running into the Great Hall when I saw two people fall over the banister. As you very well know, that was you and Seamus. What happened next, no one could stop. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf, attacked you. I'm sure you've heard his penchant for young flesh and his willingness to propagate the curse. The strangest thing, though, was the fact he was transformed in werewolf form. We later found out that Snape was forced to develop a potion for this purpose."

Lavender couldn't help but interrupt, "Forced Snape? He was a Death Eater! Didn't he do it willingly?"

Thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to mind Lavender's interjection too much. "Snape turned out to be on our side in the end," she said a bit gloomily. "He helped Harry before he died. As cruel as he was, Snape was a hero. Moving on. This potion explains why—why Professor Lupin hadn't transformed," Hermione added, wavering slightly. "_Oh_, I shouldn't be doing this, Lavender! It should have been Professor Lupin!"

It felt like Lavender should play the comforting role. From the sounds of it, the battle seemed simply horrendous! She shuddered. It also sounded like something really terrible happened to her… "Well, I'm sure he must be busy, and things. You are doing a perfectly fine job, Hermione. I'm really glad you are doing this for me." This, she really did honestly mean.

"Busy?" The tears were flowing again. Lavender bit her lip. She must have said the wrong thing. And here she had been working _so_ hard on her tact. "L-Lavender, Professor L-Lupin was _k-killed_. A-and his wife…"

Her eyes widened. Lavender could feel her heart thudding all of sudden, very loudly. "He was the best Defence teacher we have _ever_ had! That's not possible!" she cried emphatically. "His wife too?" Lavender sank back into her pillows, horrified. She didn't even know how to react anymore. Numbness engulfed her and Lavender just sat still, frozen into silence. Another person she knew and his _family_.

A minute later, when Hermione had sufficiently pulled herself together, the witch continued, "Er, where was I? Yes. Greyback attacked you in his wolf form, meaning the damage you suffered was magnified." Hermione gestured to the thick bandages wrapped around the other girl's middle. She was quiet for a minute before resignedly ploughing on. "See, Lavender, I was able to intervene with before he killed you. I'll have you know that he was blasted away and later on killed. But the matter still remains: no matter _what_ form Fenrir Greyback attacked you in, his bite has the same effect…" Hermione said wearily, suddenly looking much older than her seventeen years.

Lavender stared at Hermione, her mental gears finally clicking. "So you mean…"

"Yes, Lavender, you are now a werewolf."

-

_Author's Note_: Oh, how I wanted to end this chapter with this dramatic finish. Thank you, my reviewers, for your support! It makes writing all the more enjoyable. The next chapter is in the works, although it will not be posted until next week, as I am out of town this weekend. I really am having so much fun with this story, seriously! Right now, though, I'm debating whether or not to go AU from information in the _Deathly Hallows_ epilogue… Hmm. In any case, you'll definitely see the Trio making appearances in the story. And what happened to Seamus? We'll find that out later, too. As always, constructive criticism and other reviews are very much appreciated...!


	3. Into Reality

III. Into Reality

In that moment, she crumpled further into the pillows, a hand covering her eyes. Lavender could not bear to even look at Hermione, the reluctant harbinger of such terrible news. She was a werewolf. It made sense now – the furtive looks through her window, the restraints that were on her wrists, the bigoted comment from her first day of consciousness… Lavender trembled and her quiet sobs strained her fragile, recovering system. Already, Lavender felt a dull pain in her side. Hermione looked anxiously, reaching out towards Lavender but quickly retreating when the other girl shied away.

"Don't touch me," Lavender said miserably. Her hand muffled her unusually quiet voice. "Why would you want to, anyway? I'm not even a human being now, but a… but a… _creature_." She spat the word out and shuddered, repulsed. "My life is ruined now. Everyone will hate me, no one will let me work for them, and I'll be stuck in shabby robes for the rest of my life, even if I am a pretty decent person. I saw how people treated Professor Lupin, and he was outright _kind_. And I have to register at the Ministry, won't I? Like _all magical creatures_ that are a danger to society." A sort of whimper left her mouth. Not only would other witches and wizards look down upon her, she would also lose a lot of her freedoms. It was humiliating.

"Lavender! No!" Hermione breathed in sharply, hearing Lavender's self-deprecating language. This was the exact reason she had not wanted to do this, even when she had saved Lavender's life. Watching the breakdown of a girl who was rather nice, despite her flaws, was dreadful. Hermione could only imagine what was running through Lavender's head. "Lavender, not everyone is like that! The Weasleys are not, I am not, and Harry is not – isn't that enough? I can bet you that Parvati believes the same thing. You _are _human, Lavender! Yes, there are still many people fearful of werewolves, but it takes time for people to change. Hopefully, Minister Shacklebolt will help loosen those insane laws we have now, okay? But you have to fight!" Hermione spoke hurriedly and emphatically, worry crossing her features. "If Professor Lupin can," she paused, "…could get a job, then you will be able to, too."

The thought of transforming into a vile, blood-lusting werewolf disgusted Lavender herself. She didn't want to be something that could hurt those around her. Hermione's words felt worthless, however meaningful; a few unprejudiced acquaintances wouldn't help her fend off the masses who felt otherwise. A tight ball of hurt that slowly was unfurling through the recovery now curled quickly inside her. "Who… who else knows, Hermione?" Her voice was small, foreign to her own ears.

Again, Hermione hesitated. "The Daily Prophet ran an article a few days ago… listing Fenrir Greyback's victims." The former Gryffindor couldn't fully bring herself to describe the backlash of the printing. A majority of the public immediately ostracised families with pure werewolves, meaning somewhat cursed witches and wizards like Bill Weasley fared better than their counterparts. "The response hasn't been very good," she added delicately, deciding that it would be best for Lavender to get some of the truth.

"That explains why Parvati hasn't visited in so long," Lavender mumbled, half to herself. Parvati wouldn't meet her eyes the last time she visited. She began to play with the hem of the bedcover, feeling uneasy and slightly nauseous. "She is from an Indian Pureblood family, you know. They are rather conservative," she continued softly, for Hermione's benefit. Hermione smiled sadly. She had lost many of her Muggle friends after she started at Hogwarts. Lavender did not deserve to go through this.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Lavender? Contact your parents?"

Lavender answered so fast that Hermione couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. "No! My… my healer has already taken care of that. My mum should visit within the next few days," the bedridden girl commented hastily. "Mum's been busy taking care of my sister, lately, you see. Rose… has been ill. Thank you, though."

"Do you have any questions, then?"

"No. None at all, Hermione." Again, Lavender spoke quickly, trying to change the subject. Family was a difficult topic for her.

"Well, if you come up with any, feel free to owl me. I will be at the Weasleys, I believe, until I move into my flat. I know we haven't been close in the last few years, but let me know if there is anything I can do to help you out. You are a strong person, Lavender, and you have proven that time and again." Any antagonism Hermione felt towards Lavender when at Hogwarts had disappeared. Lavender strongly suspected that this change occurred after Hermione finally began to date Ron.

It didn't matter anymore, though. Lavender slowly realised she would have to be willing to make new friends in this new stage of her life, in her life as a werewolf post-war. Every good friend would have to be appreciated fully, because they could become few and far between. Lavender compelled herself to ignore the revelation of her lycanthropy and manage a somewhat cheerful expression. "I really appreciate this, Hermione."

Hermione nodded with another smile tugging at her lips. "It isn't a problem at all, Lavender." She sent a look at the clock, before exclaiming, "Merlin, I promised Ron I would meet him in the dining hall twenty minutes ago. I hope you don't mind if I take your leave." The bushy-haired witch looked at Lavender apologetically.

"Boys are impatient things. Go on, go ahead," Lavender waved Hermione away.

"I'm a… werewolf," she said to herself, trying to get a feel for the foreign word. It rolled awkwardly against her lips. Lavender bit her lip, trying to imagine what she would look like transformed. The image she conjured consisted of matted fur, blood, and sharp glistening teeth digging into the firm flesh of some innocent being. She dry-retched over the basin next to her, feeling utterly repulsed. Lavender suddenly wished she asked Hermione more. 'Does it hurt? What happens? Is there anyone who can brew the Wolfsbane Potion?' The thoughts flew through her head furiously. 'What if I hurt someone?"

Lavender voiced one last thought to herself, as she gagged over the basin once more. 'If I am repulsed by myself, how will I survive the others?'

-

Once a friend, the mirror seemed to balk in front of her body. '_Looking… marvelous,' _it muttered quickly, before falling quiet. It lied. Lavender clenched her teeth, telling herself not to lash out at the inanimate object with anger and tears. She tried not to look at herself as she changed into a fresh shift and underclothes. But the mottled colors, like a bruise on an apple, beckoned her unwillingly eyes. Her green eyes in miserable fascination traced the crooked curvatures of scars patterning her midriff, breasts, and arms. The pattern was ugly and twisting, a design gone wrong. A map of the bleakest location on the planet. A mistake. Lavender saw how the skin pulled at her left side into a deformed star as if trying to close the opening of all her wrongs and hurts. If Lavender looked hard enough, she could even see the faint crescent of tooth marks _It_ left.

They told her magic could give her new skin, but they forgot to mention that it would not look good. Blotches of new skin covered parts of her body in an uneven patchwork quilt. Lavender reminded herself that Healer Hipworth, her unusually considerate caretaker, had done her best. The reminder failed to salve her despair. The girl always had prided herself on her sweet, good looks. Her milky white skin was now a canvas for an abstract painting gone wrong. Never could Lavender pull off the halter tops, the bikinis, even the short sleeved look again without feeling the hot, uncomfortable shame that came with lost beauty.

Lavender forced herself to stare straight into the mirror. She had lost weight, a fact that she once would have been elated about, if not for the fact it made her look broken and lost. A set of Muggle stitches, magically enforced, ran along the curve of one cheek, marking the place where _It_ clawed her heavily. The wound, strangely, would not stay closed when the healers used normal means. It hurt to smile, but Lavender didn't mind. 'Nothing to smile about anyway,' she thought dully, pulling on her underwear and strapping on her bra. Lavender frowned at the contrast between her white underclothes and her body. It put her flaws into sharp relief. The tightness in her chest grew and she dropped her hospital shift.

She didn't know when the tears started. First, they trickled slowly like silent, sad rivers. Then the dam within her suddenly burst, and Lavender suddenly shook with the force of her sobs. The young woman swayed until she fell to the floor into a pathetic pile. The rough bathroom tile was cool against her face.

An hour later, Healer Hipworth found her charge sitting against the counter, eyes still red and watery. Lavender listlessly put on her shift and accepted Hipworth's help back to her bed, not before sending one last anguished look at the mirror behind her.

-

Lavender ignored the nervous glances the hospital staff shot her as she walked to Healer Hipworth's desk. She knew why they were looking at her; as Hermione said, the Prophet had published the names of all Fenrir Greyback's victims for the "good of the populace." It wasn't very hard for the other healers and trainees to recognise her name and put two and two together. Apparently, it had been too much for her to hope that the whole article would eventually blow over. The slender girl scowled darkly at the fearful onlookers. They could all jerk off for all Lavender cared.

The last few weeks had been utterly miserable, except for the small visits from Hermione and rare, reluctant ones from Parvati. Lavender sighed to herself. Never did expect her friendship with Parvati to be changed so drastically. Their frequent and long talks had transformed to brief, awkward encounters. She recognised that the one relationship she had held so dear during her years at Hogwarts would never be the same. The girl wished that Seamus had been around. He always knew how to infuse humour into a situation. 'And I owe him so much,' she thought wistfully, 'but I don't even know if he is alive…' Seamus' fate tormented Lavender often. It was _her_ fault they fell off the banister. If only she had been brave enough to take care of the two Death Eaters on her own… Shaking herself out of her reverie, Lavender strode past a gaping trainee and rolled her eyes. What did they think she was going to do? Bite them?

"Marjorie!" Lavender called out to the middle-aged witch. Marjorie Hipworth had a lean, hawk-like figure, and steely eyes excellent for easily catching even the minutest of mistakes made under her command. Hipworth was not a beautiful woman by any means, but rather a woman with a force of a personality. Her brusque nature made her loved and hated by her colleagues and acquaintances. The Healer looked up, bestowing Lavender with a rare smile. During her stay at St. Mungo's, Hipworth became Lavender's main companion. The healer's unassuming and unconditional acceptance of Lavender's affliction warmed her to Lavender. "It looks like they are getting rid of me."

Hipworth nodded slightly. "Good, too. I was getting tired of you and your whinging." The amused twitch of her lips at the end of the statement let Lavender know she was merely joking. Lavender gave the healer a tiny smile. The scar near her mouth continued to hurt a bit when she smiled or laughed. "Be sure to visit every once in a while," Hipworth added sternly.

"Of course!" Lavender exclaimed. Then she faltered, "That is, if no one else minds too much." She sent pointed glances towards all the other healers.

Hipworth frowned. "Don't worry, Lavender. They will be _perfectly fine_ with it." There was an edge of venom to her words. Hipworth was always a stickler when it came to fair treatment. Lavender was strangely reminded of Hermione and her S.P.E.W. campaign. The sharp healer quickly interrupted her thoughts. "Before you go, a few instructions. Every full moon, you realise, you will transform into a werewolf. It will hurt, but your bloodlust and violent nature will be curbed with the Wolfsbane Potion. Severus Snape was one of the few who could concoct this potion," she informed, unable to hide the look of disgust on her face. Lavender gathered that the healer was not overly fond of the former Potions instructor, "but a few new graduates in your class have shown the potential to brew it – Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. They will practice with you on a rotating schedule. The hospital has decided that you would be more comfortable with students from your own house."

"_Neville Longbottom_?" Lavender cried incredulously. "He was _miserable_ at Potions!"

The healer pursed her lips, amused. "Apparently, he fares better without Snape harassing him, according to Pomona Sprout. She says that Longbottom is a good hand with plants, which will help the brewing in any case."

"What if their potion doesn't work? They have never brewed it before!"

"For the first few transformations, both will brew a potion, so if one doesn't feel like it is going to work, you can take the other in case. Although, if you have already transformed, it could be prove to be a problem…" Hipworth frowned again. "But don't worry; you will be in a safe, protected location where you will cause minimal harm to yourself and others. Headmistress McGonagall has offered a room at Hogwarts for you. I believe you are familiar with The Room of Requirement?" Lavender's eyes lit up. The Room had been her home for a majority of her seventh year, before the start of the War. "Now, Lavender, sign right here. You are of age, so you are allowed to sign out yourself," Hipworth explained, pushing a parchment to her. Lavender signed quickly, shifting her shoulder bag of possessions to the side so she could. There hadn't been _too_ much to gather – just some books she thought useful, the cards well-wishers sent, and a whole lot of clothes and amenities.

"Thank you, Marjorie, for everything," Lavender said gratefully. She truly was indebted to the woman who made sure she received proper care.

"You are very welcome. It's my job," Hipworth commented with another half-smile. "Anything else?"

Lavender paused. There _was_ something else. "Could you look up another patient for me?" she asked tentatively. The young woman had no idea if he was admitted to St. Mungo's, but it was worth a try. "Was Seamus Finnegan a patient here?"

Hipworth nodded. "Give me a moment, though." She opened an empty file cabinet next to her and murmured a quick spell. Lavender thought she heard Seamus' name mentioned. A file popped up in the cabinet. The witch hoped it meant Seamus had been there. Hipworth scanned the file for a moment before looking up. "I can't tell you too much – hospital regulations – but he was admitted just around the time you were. Your friend is fine, as far as I can discern, and was released last week. This is his address, if you so need it." Hipworth quickly scribbled a few lines on a paper and handed it to Lavender. "Good luck."

'Seamus is alive!' Lavender thought elatedly. She felt immeasurably relieved. "Thank you, again!" the long-haired girl exclaimed with her first genuine smile in a long time. "I have better get going though – I have to stop at Gringotts and the like, now," Lavender explained.

"Security is still about maximum, there, after the dragon fiasco," Hipworth added. "You may be stuck there for a while." She stood up and gave Lavender a brief hug. "Stay strong."

"I will try," Lavender replied, a bit weakly. She waved slightly and began to walk away. Then she stopped and turned back. "Marjorie, how come you don't treat me like the other healers do?"

The healer glanced up from her work, looking suddenly tired. Hipworth's hard gaze softened for a moment. "I had a brother, once. I know what it feels like…" she trailed off and went back to her paperwork. Hipworth didn't look up. Lavender didn't push the subject and instead continued down the hallway.

It still was nice to know there were such good people around.

-

_Author's Note_: Apologies for the delay. Things have been awfully busy, lately. In the next few chapters we will see Lavender searching for work, a place to live, finding Seamus, and much more. As I have said before, I am really having fun writing this story. Again, I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter – constructive criticism and other reviews are _always_ welcome!


	4. Meet Mister Robards

IV. Meet Mister Robards

The jingling of coins in her bag made her fervently thankful that she had worked the summer job at the Leaky Cauldron for the past four years. Initially, it had been at Mr. Patil's encouragement. Tom was reluctant to take her at such a young age, but the Patils convinced him to at least take her on as a dishwasher for the first year or so. Lavender often stayed with the Patil family during the past summers, and the Patils encouraged her to save up for her future and be independent. They saw Lavender, deep down, was a hard-worker, unlike their daughters, who preferred to pass their time shopping and reading, respectively. And although the circumstances had changed, Lavender still was glad for their help. Lavender smiled slightly, though she didn't know how much longer those carefully saved summer wages would last. It was better than nothing, at least.

Now, Lavender had another job to do. It was now time to gather all her belongings from her mother's house. Things were not pleasant the last time she visited. Lavender decided it was time to close that page of her life. If her family found out who she was, they would only loathe her presence even more. Her family did not know she was a werewolf, as Lavender told Hermione otherwise. She paused by a window of a small town shop to fix her chestnut-coloured hair and touch up her make-up. It would do no good to show off the new imperfections on her face. Lavender straightened out her Muggle clothes, an unusually modest pair of jeans and turtleneck. Only semi-satisfied with her appearance, Lavender slipped into the small alleyway next to the store and Apparated. It was now or never.

-

The Brown residence could be described as comfortable. The two-story brick home possessed a well-tended flower garden – the envy of the neighbours, really – and ivy crawled leisurely down the muted brown walls of the house. Even in the dry summer, the lawn was a lush green from the daily watering. Lavender hesitated from where she stood. It appeared that her mother had fared well since she had left. This certainly wasn't the house she had once inhabited. There was a great contrast between the rough, uncared look Lavender grew up with and this new manicured look. Lavender bit her lip nervously and forced herself to walk up the car park and the side walk, to the front door. The endeavour wasn't supposed to be this difficult. All Lavender wanted to do was nip in, grab some of her old things, and leave. She pressed the doorbell with resolve she didn't quite feel.

There was a quick shuffle of footsteps. A small hand pushed the curtain away from the small, glass side-window to see who it was. The door burst open and an exuberant, curly-haired girl threw herself at Lavender. Lavender winced as the ten-year-old squeezed her middle. Slowly, she extricated herself from the smaller girl's grasp and smiled slightly. "Hullo, Rosie, how are you doing?"

"Why don't you ever write to me anymore? It has been _three years_ since you wrote me a letter!" This was Lavender's younger sister. Rose Brown was only six years old when Lavender was thrown out of the house after her third year at Hogwarts. The two were close, and she felt a slight twinge of regret of not having written. Of course, the reason _why_ she did not was clear, besides the fact there had been a war going on.

"Your mother wouldn't have allowed," Lavender said tersely, crossing her arms. "I did, for at least a year after, but it seems like your dear mum intercepted them. Don't blame me, Rosie… you know I wouldn't forget you." Lavender's pretty features softened. Rosie was a passionate child, a bit like Lavender herself when she was young. Those were the days. Lavender sighed inwardly. Since when had she been so jaded?

"She is _your _mother, too!" Rose sounded confused and indignant.

"Rose, darling, you have to understand me." How was she going explain this to her ten-year-old sister? "Mum didn't like the fact I was… was different. That's why she wanted me to leave. I think you were at day school when it happened…" Lavender remembered the day perfectly. She had come home from the ice cream parlour during the early summer after her third year only to find her trunk outside with a note saying "DON'T COME BACK." It was harsh, but Lavender should have seen it coming… Mrs. Brown always cared about looks and Lavender was a blemish – and a reminder of her dead husband. Lavender recalled Parvati's chatter about the Knight Bus, hailed it, and went to the only place she knew she would be welcome: the Patil home. The rest was history.

"But Lavender, I'm d—"

A deep, male voice interrupted Rose's statement. "Rosie, sweetie? Who is it?" Suddenly, a tall, well-built man strode around the corner. Lavender, true to her ingrained fashion sense, noted the impressive quality of his linen shirt and slacks. A frown crossed the tanned man's face. "Who are you?"

"This is my sister, Lavender, Daddy!" Rose stood next to her sister and gripped her hand. Lavender hadn't realised she was shaking.

"Rosie, you don't have a sister, sweets," the man said slowly. "Now, really, who are you?"

Lavender faltered. She didn't expect to have all of her erased so completely. She also didn't expect a new father. "My name is Lavender Brown. I am Rose's sister, and I am sorry that my _dear_ mother failed to tell you about me," Lavender continued as politely as she could. The young woman almost wanted to laugh out of pity for this new member of the household.

He frowned again. "Myrtle! Come down here for a minute!" he called up the stairs.

A petite figure came into view. "Yes, Ryan?" She came down the stairs. Myrtle Brown was small and slender – one of those women who enjoyed to exercise and tan excessively and obsessively. "What's the problem?" Her voice now possessed an unnatural coyness. Lavender wanted to gag. Myrtle Brown's eyes flicked to the doorway and widened. Immediately, the woman's façade dropped. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Myrtle, who is she?" Ryan asked, now very confused.

"Just… a distant relative," Myrtle fumbled.

"I thought you said you had none?"

Rosie watched the exchange, shocked that her mother was denying her sister's existence. Lavender felt bad for exposing this side of their mother to her younger sibling. The younger girl interrupted next, her cheeks flushed. "Mum! She is your daughter! What is _wrong _with you? First, you kicked her out and then you're denying she's yours? _Mum!_"

"You sent your own daughter away?" Ryan frowned once more. "Myrtle… why didn't you tell me?"

Myrtle sent a hesitant glance towards her new husband before shrugging resignedly. "It wasn't important. She is a … _freak_, anyway," she commented nastily, giving Lavender a hard glare. Lavender stood her ground and held Rose's hand tighter. "What do_ you_ want, anyway? You aren't getting any money here."

"I wasn't planning on it," Lavender returned stonily, gritting her teeth. "I just wanted to grab some of my old things before I settle down. I'm out of school, you know." Rose looked admiringly at her older sister.

"What makes you think I have your old things?" Myrtle snapped. "Just _leave,_ you freak, with your tarot and magic and insanity," she sputtered. Ryan gave his wife a long, hard look.

"The Myrtle I know wouldn't act so cruel," he said finally. "I remember a box in the basement with your name on it, now that I think about it. If that's all that you want, I'll gladly go get it for you." Lavender let out a breath, and nodded. She felt an inkling of fondness for Ryan already. It seemed like he was a nice man; it explained why everything was suddenly so neat and clean. Ryan gave her a short smile before heading into the back of the house.

Myrtle clenched her fists, as if restraining herself from punching her very own daughter. "Everything was so… so… _wonderful_ before you came. You ruined it all, now. What am I going to tell Ryan?"

Lavender felt no sympathy for her. "If it was meant to be it'll work out," she said with a sage shrug. It was almost as if she were advising someone like Pansy Parkinson with love help. "It's not my fault things turned out like this, Mum. You're the one who saw me as a reminder of Dad."

"And, Mum!" Rosie piped up. "I think you will have to tell Daddy about it anyway because look!" She squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. The pair of shoes on the rug next to them rose a few inches in the air. Rose opened her eyes proudly. Lavender felt a new surge of hope, and beamed. Myrtle blanched. "You can't throw me out, right?" Rosie questioned, with some worry.

"I mean, what will _Ryan_ think?" Lavender chimed in. Just then, Ryan came back to the front with a medium-sized box in his arms. He set it on the floor. Myrtle just stared at him and ran up the stairs, shoulders trembling. 'Good riddance,' Lavender thought.

"I'll just keep it here, Lavender," he said with a quick nod, watching Myrtle run up the stairs. When his wife was out of sight, Ryan gave her a surprisingly large grin. "Hullo, Lavender. My name is Ryan Robards. I'm sure you have heard of my father, Gawain?" Lavender just gaped. Son of the head of the Auror Office? She wanted to faint. "Good work during the War. I would have contacted you at St. Mungo's if I had known you Myrtle's daughter." He frowned. "She really isn't that bad, Myrtle. Just insecure. I was first sent here to check on Rosie here, for Underage Magic. On accident, I met Myrtle, and what can I say? Love at first sight." He grinned happily once more before becoming sober.

Rosie again was once again shocked. "Are you… are you like my real Dad and Lavender?" she asked.

Ryan nodded with a gentle smile. "Yes, honey. And you are too."

"Are you really a police officer?" Rosie questioned thoughtfully.

Lavender thought for a minute. "You're an Auror, then. A magical police officer," she explained to Rose. "Were you… were you _there_?" Lavender enquired, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. She was asking about Hogwarts. Ryan paused and sent another glance upstairs.

Rose's blue eyes widened curiously. "There? Where?!"

"Rose, dear, check on your Mum," her stepfather said softly. "And clean your room, while you are at it. It's been getting awfully untidy." Rose made a sound of protest, but Mr. Robards gave her a warning look. "Don't worry. You'll find out everything in due time." Crushed, Rose headed up the stairs and looked pleadingly at Lavender. Lavender merely shook her head. Ryan made a motion towards the inside of the house. "It's stifling out there; come in. I'll fix you a cuppa." Lavender acquiesced and followed the older man into the neat house. It was bright looking place now, with wide bay windows and modern furniture. She went to the dining table and perched awkwardly at the front of the wooden seat as Robards made himself comfortable with utensils. Living with a Muggle wife, it seemed, had led him to prepare tea the 'normal' way.

Lavender had missed these comforting sounds of home during her stay at the hospital and relaxed easily. She studied the Auror in front of her. It wasn't difficult to see why her mother had fallen for the man. He moved with surety and ease. Robards smiled easily and the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes proved he did so often. His chocolate-brown hair was brushed liberally with steel grey, especially near the temples. Like Rosie, Ryan had perpetually alert, blue eyes. 'In fact,' Lavender mused, 'He looks like he could be Rosie's real father.' Lavender, on the other hand, resembled more her mother.

After a few minutes, Ryan offered her a steaming cup of tea and sat down across from her with one of his own. Finally, Robards returned Lavender's question with an appropriate answer. "Yes, I was at Hogwarts," Mr. Robards replied shortly. "I told Myrtle I was on an extended trip for my station and was able to join for the final surge. I believe, by then, you were out of the battle. Neville Longbottom pulled out Gryffindor's Sword from the Sorting Hat and destroyed You-Know-Who's snake friend. Harry Potter used the Elder Wand, a very powerful wand, and defeated You-Know-Who," he summarised. Although Robards was allowed to say Voldemort's name, the habit remained due to the former Taboo.

Lavender soaked up the information. Maybe Neville, with his turn of personality, would prove to be a better Potions brewer than herself. It was time to bring up the next order of business. "So… so you also know about me," Lavender muttered under her breath. "I'm sure you have read the Prophet article detailing Greyback's victims."

"Yes, I have, and frankly, if I had been smart enough to realise that you were Myrtle's daughter I would have visited you at St. Mungo's," he informed. The Auror looked very serious. "Now, Lavender, I was raised in a family with an open mind. I know what you are now is not your fault. You are no Fenrir Greyback just because he bit you. It is going to be difficult for you, though, getting a job…" Robards trailed off. "Anyway, feel free to owl us when you need. If you want to contact Rosie, it would be better for you to send the letter through me." Lavender understood what went unsaid. 'Otherwise Myrtle will literally have a heart attack.'

Again, as she often had during the past few days, Lavender felt a rush of gratefulness to her new stepfather. He really did seem like a good man. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, it would certainly help her mother. Lavender stood up after a few moments. "I better get going, though, before Mum finds out I'm still here," she said a bit ruefully. "And I better head to the Leaky Cauldron before Tom gives away all the rooms. Thank you for everything." Lavender wondered if she was getting repetitive.

The Auror smiled understandingly. "No need, Lavender. You're one of the family, whether you like it or not." He escorted her to the door. The young woman struggled to lift the box Ryan had brought upstairs for her. Robards grinned. "Let me help you out, there." The man murmured a quick Shrinking spell, thus making the box small enough to fit in Lavender's pocket.

Lavender stepped out once more into the hot, dry sun. "Bye, then," she called out, walking down the sidewalk. Ryan waved in return before closing the door. The seventeen-year-old smiled to herself. 'Well, that went better than planned,' she thought, elated. There was hope for _something_, after all.

Walking towards a thick clump of trees in the neighbour's yard, the petite witch couldn't help but smirk to herself. There was hope for everyone except for her mother, though. Lavender couldn't wait until her mum discovered she ran into the arms of the embodiment of the magic she had so feverishly tried to avoid. Oh, the irony!

Then, Lavender closed her eyes, imagined the familiar front of the Leaky Cauldron, and Apparated.

-

_Author's Note_: Wow, okay, this chapter turned out very differently than what I imagined. (Original thought was to have a new Muggle father in the picture, to have Myrtle to be harsher rather than pathetic and unsure, and Lavender to leave the Brown residence in tears. Then I was amused at the thought – what if Rosie had magical accidents too, but learned how to control it better than most kids? That would be a nice surprise for Myrtle. And then – oh, it would be funny for Myrtle to have married a wizard again, when all she wanted was normalcy… Ha. Anyway.) I'm sorry if the end half of the chapter lagged a little; I wanted to fill in some blanks. Lavender is going to try to get a flat (apartment) the next chapter, as well as find Seamus to thank him. Yes, he saved her, but how will things be now that Lavender is a werewolf? Also, I would like to thank everyone for the kind reviews because it really makes writing this story such a joy! Until the next chapter!

(Oh, to those voracious readers – I strongly recommend the books _Shantaram _and _The Spaces Between Us_. Both are very strongly written. The latter book is is a bit sad and depressing, though, but beautiful.)


	5. Rollercoaster

V. Rollercoaster

Exhaustion crept through her body, filling her bones with heaviness and pulling at her eyelids. The day was not even half over, and she felt drained. Lavender tossed herself at her bed at the Leaky Cauldron, relishing the softness of the mattress against her and the warm sheets. Tom really knew how to take care of his guests. Letting a werewolf have a room at his establishment was not a big affair; after all, Tom had seen stranger in his years a bartender and proprietor. Lavender rolled over on the mattress and stared listlessly at the ceiling. The morning was especially trying and another reality check. The few people who accepted her for as she was would not be enough to shield her.

Four hours of slammed doors, dark looks, and in some cases, a few jinxes, brought Lavender close to her breaking point. Oh, how difficult it was to endure it. Lavender often prided herself on her poise and charm, but neither was enough to secure housing or withstand the cruel remarks. It was worse than at Hogwarts, where Lavender had been labelled viciously as a ditzy and "loose" girl, even more so after her brief, _very_ affectionate fling with Ron Weasley. Sure, Lavender loved boys, but that didn't mean she was an utter _slag_… The girl curled up deeper into the covers.

"You should just off yourself," one told her. "Better for the rest of us." Lavender bit her lip at the memory. "You actually believed we would house a blood-thirsty creature like _you_?" another landlord spat. The young woman felt the tears form in her eyes. She had endured four hours of bloody torture, and had the rest of her life to go. The brown-haired girl covered her face, aware of the hot wetness against her fingers. The room's mirror clucked sympathetically, but Lavender ignored it. Ever since her stay in the hospital, Lavender hated mirrors passionately.

Her imagination painted a bleak picture of the future for her. Living on the streets, homeless, jobless… Constantly berated and scorned. She shuddered. Maybe she could live in the Muggle world? It certainly was a possibility. If Ryan Robards could manage, so could Lavender. But Lavender would miss the excitement and the thrill of having so much magic around her. It was clear, however, that many citizens of the Wizarding World would not allow her the opportunity. And why? It wasn't like it was _Lavender's_ fault she was a werewolf. She was injured and helpless when it happened. Lavender felt like she was going to burst from the unfairness of it all.

A sudden rapping at her door interrupted her angst session. "Hold on a minute!" Lavender exclaimed as she straightened and rubbed the remaining tears out of her eyes. For good measure, she went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed her eyes with water. Feeling somewhat presentable, Lavender opened the door, to see Tom. "Hello, Tom! Need help downstairs?" she asked with cheeriness she didn't really feel.

"Heard you were having some trouble this morning," he said gruffly, shifting from foot to foot. "Have somebody downstairs who is interested in a boarder; doesn't care that you are a werewolf. Reasonable price too. Interested?" Tom let a crooked smile on his face, watching Lavender's face light up.

"Yes!"

"Well then, come with me," Tom said, limping back down the hall. Lavender quickly followed, delighted by the sudden change of events. The Leaky Cauldron's owner guided her into the bar and to a very mild-mannered looking man. The man was wearing denim coveralls stained with grease and oil. He looked up from his paper and extended a calloused hand to Lavender. Lavender shook it firmly, although a little put off by the oil left on her hands. She supposed the man couldn't help it; he did seem like a hard-working bloke… "Lavender, Mr. Mayers," Tom introduced graciously, before blending back into the darkness of the bar as he was apt to do.

"I'm from a modest family," Myers quickly started off. "I have five children. My wife works at the Ministry library and I'm a magimechanic for the Hogwarts Express and some Ministry buildings. It doesn't make a lot, but we have an extra room we'd be willing to rent out. It would only be a few Galleons a month, really… I know you're a—what you are, but as long as you were away from the house during that time of month, we wouldn't mind having you around," he commented earnestly. Lavender couldn't help but feel bad for the man. A few Galleons was probably the cheapest rent she would ever be able to find.

"That would be no problem. I would love to stay with your family! When can I move in? I really don't have too many things! When would you like the first payment?" The young witch grinned broadly, her bubbly nature showing for the first time in a few weeks.

The edges of Mr. Myers' eyes crinkled good-naturedly. "You remind me of my daughter, Edie. I think the two of you would get along very well." He held up his hands as if to slow the onslaught of questions. "If possible, we can get the papers and details sorted out in evening, when my wife is around. Sound good?" Lavender nodded brightly. "Now, Miss Lavender, I have to get back to work. I will see you at seven at Fifty North Havenshire Place, good?" After giving her a very fatherly smile, Mr. Myers then Apparated.

Lavender laughed to herself. "Can I have an apple pie with lots of whip cream, Tom?! I deserve to indulge!" For once, she didn't care about a few extra calories. Her day couldn't get any better.

She was right. It only could get worse from thereon out.

-

Lavender looked once more at the slip of paper in her hand. _1130 Incendius Alley_. She looked hesitantly at the street sign before walking reluctantly into the lane. Knockturn Alley. Lavender lowered her eyes and pulled her summer cloak about her closer even though it was a bright and sunny evening. The place gave her the chills. She felt the grim eyes from the shop windows following her. Lavender quickened her pace wondering why Seamus and Dean picked such a… _scary_ area to live in. The witch almost wished she had Apparated rather than walked, but she wanted the fresh air.

Staying close to one side of the road, she followed cobbled path until it twisted into a shabby looking lane. Lavender stepped gingerly over an especially nasty looking spill on the ground. Amber coloured chips of glass littered the alley, remnants of old firewhiskey bottles. The werewolf crinkled her nose at the scent of old garbage. A mixture of eggs, banana peels, and tomato sauce, it seemed. It seemed that since the battle at Hogwarts, certain senses, such as sight, smell, and hearing were heightened. The whole experience still took some time getting used to.

She scanned the row of flats before locating the correct building. Lavender struggled a moment with the unwilling door handle. It budged with a loud creak, which startled the mouse in the corner. The young witch squealed shrilly, jumping backwards. One of the doors on the first floor squeaked open revealing a handsome black wizard. Dean Thomas smiled broadly, beckoning her up the stairs. "I can recognise that shriek anywhere," he commented, winking at her just as broadly. "Oh, how rewarding it was to prank you all those years…" Lavender attempted to look indignant but failed miserably, giving into a fit of giggles.

"It was _you_? _Deeeean!_" Lavender mock glared, climbing up the rickety steps. "What did I ever do to you?"

Dean smiled and shrugged. "I wasn't the only one who did, Lav. You never did anything... but you know how you were back then." 'You acted like a gossipy, girly, empty-headed good-for-nothing,' is what he didn't say. Lavender cringed slightly. "See, you turned out fine," he added brightly. "Now, come in. Sorry if the place is a bit of a mess. If Seamus and I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned up some."

"Seamus wouldn't help you?" Lavender teased, following him into a small living room with attached kitchenette. To say it was 'a bit of a mess' was a great understatement. Clean clothes lay unfolded in baskets, dirty clothes were strewn all over the place, and a stack of dirty plates rested lazily in the sink. Dean had set up shop in a corner of the room, with three easels and coffee tins of paintbrushes. That area could have been described as somewhat clean, if Dean only cleaned up all the paint spatters. A small television set was squeezed into another corner of the room. Lavender recognised the device, but she was years removed from actually using one. "Er, nice… place you have her," the witch tried to say.

Dean laughed and waved a hand nonchalantly. "Seamus? Help? You know he is a lost cause." The two former Gryffindors rolled their eyes knowingly. "And you don't have to lie, Lav. Our flat is a perfect sty, honestly."

"Just trying to be nice," Lavender explained, reddening slightly. "Sorry. Anyway, what have you been up to?"

"Working some commissions, which is enough to get by with the help of Seamus' job at the apothecary… I hope to open a gallery someday… The Ministry has shown interest in my work and want me to paint some large something for the Memorial Museum that is in the works. And, well, you should know that the portrait business is pretty big these days…" Dean trailed off awkwardly. Lavender nodded; she understood that Dean didn't like the fact the dead fuelled his work. It felt wrong. "What about you, Lav? When did you get out of St. Mungo's? Sorry I didn't get the chance to visit – things were pretty chaotic for a while afterwards."

Lavender breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently Dean accepted who she was. The young woman didn't understand why she was so suddenly worried that her old friends wouldn't like her now. 'Well, Parvati doesn't seem to, as much,' a small voice nagged at the peripheral of her thoughts. Lavender forced a smile and continued, "I got out a few days ago and have been staying at the Leaky Cauldron since. Been looking around for a place, too, but that's been hard… Found a place today, so hopefully things will be settled in a few days!"

"Good to hear things are shaping up for you. Now, what brings you to this part of town? And wait, how did you get our address?"

"My healer looked up Seamus' file for me. I kind of want to you know… Well, he did save my life, and er," Lavender half-mumbled, playing uncomfortably with a strand of her hair. Dean smiled one of his brilliant, all-knowing smiles and nodded understandingly. It seemed like he knew something more. Suddenly, it looked like he remembered something and the smile faded slightly. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"Seamus… he's a bit.. you know how much he listens to his Mum…" the wizard trailed off and looked like he was going to say more. Dean then stopped and looked over Lavender's shoulder. "Look, there is Seamus now! I have to… make my bed, but I'll be around." He hastily headed towards the narrow hallway, brushing past his sleepy-eyed, sandy-haired friend. A small frown creased Lavender's forehead as she tried to make sense of her friend's words.

"Hullo there, Lav," Seamus said shortly, glancing back curiously at his quickly retreating friend. "Didn't expect any guests so early." Lavender turned around and crossed her arms, stifling a laugh. It was near six o'clock in the evening. Early, it most certainly was not. She eyed his attire of boxers and undershirt with amusement. 'Seamus looks fine,' Lavender mused, trying not to imagine too much what was under his shirt. She was failing. 'I only see a few scars on his legs, but other than that? Top shape!' The wizard at least had the grace to look a little sheepish, after noticing Lavender's amused glance. "So, what can I help you with?" He sounded unusually brusque. "I do have to head out soon."

She wavered, unsure how to tackle the subject. Lavender summoned up the last dregs of her Gryffindor courage. "At… at Hogwarts… that night…" she started off vaguely. Seamus' face was strangely neutral and blank. "You saved my life. If not for you jumping in, I would have been dead…" Lavender ended somewhat lamely. "I am indebted to you, honestly. I… I am sorry that you had to get hurt on my behalf. It's really my fault, and _oh_, I wish that none of it happened!" The girl looked at Seamus earnestly, searching for some sort of reaction. She reached out towards him, to put a hand on his arm.

What happened next wasn't what Lavender imagined, at all. Seamus flinched visibly as her hand touched him. If Lavender hadn't rapidly retracted her hand, it looked as if Seamus would have slapped it away. "Just… is that all?" he muttered darkly, shifting away from her. "Could you leave before you touch anything else?"

Lavender gaped at him. What in Merlin's name was Seamus thinking? He _knew_ that she could not – and would not – do anything to him. The witch backed away towards the door. A whole array of emotions flitted across his features. Fright? Uncertainty? Seamus eventually settled on a grim stare, as if trying to will Lavender away with his gaze. Shakily, Lavender reached for the doorknob and let herself out. She stumbled down the stairs, past the broken bottles, past the nibbling mice back into Knockturn Alley. Without second thought, Lavender Apparated, letting herself fall into the feeling of nothingness.

-

In. Out. In. Out. Lavender forced herself to breathe deeply as she Apparated to North Havenshire Place. Being emotionally fraught generally was not conducive to Apparating – Splinching was generally the result. Thankfully, she appeared next to a series of modest townhouses that covered each side of the road and appeared painfully well-kept. Lavender quickly rushed down the sidewalk, ignoring the dull throbbing at the back of her head. Seamus, the boy she dated briefly and awkwardly her third year, the boy who teased her incessantly at Hogwarts, _the boy who saved her life_, had shied away from her. Everything was going so terribly wrong. It shouldn't have been like that. He should have smiled, told her quite plainly that Fenrir Greyback was an outright bastard, and that he would have her back no matter what the future held. Because that's what friends did. But did Seamus even want to be friends anymore? Lavender searched the townhouses for the correct number. Currently, she was at house Twenty-Five. 'A bit farther, then,' she thought to herself.

Just because the War was won, it didn't mean the old stigmas left. Lavender clenched her handbag tighter. A little less than a month wasn't long enough to change the minds of the Wizarding population. Unfortunately. But _Seamus_? The former Gryffindor couldn't get over the fact. Her steps became slower as she tried to digest the idea. It was… unfathomable! Seamus had not acted meanly to Professor Lupin, ever. Was that because he was a professor? Lavender mulled over the thought. It probably was his stupid mother's fault. 'So _that's _what Dean meant!' She recalled their fifth year, when Seamus exploded at Harry Potter about the Daily Prophet. Lavender cursed under her breath. "Stupid, _stupid, STUPID_," she groaned out for good measure. Lavender stopped to check the house number. Fifty. She was there. The werewolf popped out a hairbrush from her handbag to fix her hair, using the shiny back of the brush to fix her slightly smeared eye makeup. It would not do any good to look badly when everything seemed to be falling to pieces around her. Lavender rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, a rather frazzled looking woman answered the door, a chubby baby at her hip. The woman's eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah! You must be the one interested in renting out the room. Let me go get Daniel." The baby cooed in agreement, eking out a small smile from the rather distraught Lavender. The woman moved back into the doorway and called for Mr. Mayers. Shortly afterwards, the amiable man appeared. He looked rather drained.

"Lavender, I'm afraid we can't give the room to you."

Lavender about fainted. "What? I thought you had a room just earlier? Did you already rent it out? Isn't this Fifty North Havenshire?" A shrill note of desperation entered her voice. This could not be happening to her. Daniel Mayers just looked at her sadly.

"No, the room is still for rent. But to be perfectly honest with you, the news somehow got to my boss, and well, Lavender, he isn't the most open-minded bloke out there. He… he…" Mayers seemed to choke on his words. Lavender realised that the man really did not want to turn her away. "…He threatened to cancel my contracts," he finished quietly. "I'm sorry, but you have to understand that six mouths are depending on me to put food on the table. Sara, she doesn't make much at the library. And as much as I would like to help you out, I can't give up my job," Daniel Mayers then added, looking at Lavender pleadingly.

This time, Lavender was unable to withhold the tears. She turned away, her shoulders shaking. "F-fine," she gulped, feeling a bit wobbly on her feet. "I'll b-best get along then…" She walked back to the sidewalk, rubbing away with a hand and consequently mussing up her eyeliner and mascara. Lavender didn't care anymore. Might as well look the part of the deranged werewolf lady. She closed her eyes and Apparated, not really caring where she ended up.

-

The loud sound of someone honking their horn shook Lavender out of her angst-filled stupor. She had been standing in the empty lane for about five minutes when a bright, shiny taxi rounded the corner. Lavender suddenly realised how terrible she looked, with tousled hair, runny nose, and still drippy eyes – not to mention a full set of robes. The turbaned taxi driver called out something angrily in a different language and Lavender jumped aside. It would do no good to get killed in the Muggle world. 'Although it would help everyone else out.' Lavender recalled the man from early in the morning. She was feeling rather maudlin, now. The taxi sped by, leaving only the acrid smell of exhaust in her nose.

Lavender crept into the busy sidewalk, ignoring the stares she received. She hoped the onlookers would chalk her look up to some absurd London fashion fad. "Children these days and their outfits; just outrageous!" she heard a woman mutter. The witch pretended not to hear and instead found a seat at the nearest open air café. Lavender rested her head on her hands, absorbing the innocuous white noise of the city. Maybe she could become a Muggle if she really had to… Maybe she could…

"Lavender Brown? What are you doing here?" The voice was male, surprised, and absolutely unmistakable. Lavender looked up. Harry Potter stared at her, his piercing green eyes already asking her a thousand questions. He was standing a little ways away, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. Lavender did not know him that well – he preferred Ron and Hermione's company at Hogwarts – but she knew it would not stop him from interrogating her. Damn his insufferable curiosity. Lavender sighed heavily and buried her face into her arms.

Great. Just great.

-

_Author's Note_: It's a bit of a rollercoaster of a chapter, isn't it? Things with Seamus have to get worse before they get better. I'm not big on Harry/Ginny, so I might switch that up with some other couple – let's see. I haven't settled on any couples yet, to be honest, other than RHr, really. Anyway, thank you, reviewers, for the awesome feedback! I love to hear from you all! Oh, and just a note: school starts next week, and I'm not sure how regular my updates will be. Of course, I will try to update at least once a week or so. Thank you all again!


	6. Good Job, Harry Potter

VI. Good Job, Harry Potter

Self-restraint, unfortunately, was definitely not a virtue Lavender had ever cared to develop. In addition, after Greyback's attack, Lavender found herself easily riled. Thus, when she lifted her head to see an expectant Harry Potter _still_ standing there a few moments later, Lavender felt the blood rush to her face – not out of embarrassment, but out of anger. "What do you want, Potter?" the werewolf snapped loudly, feeling rather Slytherin. She imagined she looked absolutely ridiculous with her livid expression, tear-stained cheeks, and red-rimmed eyes. Yet, somehow, Lavender didn't care one bit about her appearance. Her day had been simply terrible and some prying, though well-intentioned, former classmate did not help matters much.

"Nothing, I was just surprised to see another one of us here," Potter answered calmly, gesturing vaguely to the rest of Muggle London. "And especially in robes, as well," he continued, raising an eyebrow. Harry sat down next to her, ignoring her failing attempts to shift her own chair away. Lavender struggled a little longer before noticing it was bolted stubbornly to the ground. 'Merlin, did I make a fool of myself,' she sighed inwardly. "So, Lavender, what are you doing here in London?" The other Gryffindor repeated conversationally, trying to stifle a chuckle at her antics.

"Sitting," Lavender replied flatly. "You may need to up the prescription on those glasses, Harry, if you couldn't tell that much." She crossed her arms and looked at Harry stoically. "Anything else? Good, I would like to get going now." Lavender made a move to stand, but Potter grabbed her arm firmly. The witch gritted her teeth. "Please."

Potter smiled crookedly. "It's generally unwise to Apparate in such an emotional state, Lavender. Ron was splinched once and it definitely was not a pleasant experience, according to him." He looked at her thoughtfully, "To be honest, you look downright miserable, which is odd for you, isn't it?" The question was rhetorical.

Reluctantly, Lavender sat back down. The thought of losing fingers and other body parts was nauseating. "Keep on theorising, Harry. It seems like you can figure things out on your own, Sherlock." Harry gave her a surprised look, impressed with her familiarity with the Muggle reference. "I'm a half-blood," the witch added offhandedly in response to his unspoken question and tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. Harry remained silent and continued to watch her, as if trying to dissect what she was thinking. To be honest, it was sort of unnerving and Lavender vaguely wondered if he was a Legilimens. Finally, the werewolf heaved a sigh and half-heartedly muttered, "If you really want to know, Harry, it's been a bit of a… bad day."

"Are people giving you trouble?" he asked curiously, frowning slightly. Lavender nodded, staring at her hands silently. "That's stupid, you know. You'd think after the War some things would change…" Harry shook his head, disgusted. "Anyway, Lavender. What exactly happened?"

"Do you really want to hear it?" She sent him a dubious look.

Harry smiled warmly and affirmed, "Yeah, really." Lavender was surprised at how affable the Saviour of the Wizarding World acted. It felt like they had been bosom buddies for years. 'Harry's got charm, I'll give you that,' the witch grudgingly admitted to herself. 'Even though he _is _nosy.'

"Well, alright. I spent about a thousand hours this morning Apparating from place to place looking for a flat or a room to rent, only to have people slam doors in my and tell me that I'm lower than a house-elf – sorry, you know what I mean, though," Lavender covered hastily, remembering Harry's special attachment to one of the Hogwarts house-elves. "Then I went to Seamus and Dean's place to thank Seamus for saving my life at Hogwarts, only he makes it seem like he regrets because he listens to his stupid mum and I don't know why he is being like that – I mean I thought he got rid of his mum's ideas during the whole DA thing, you know? But, no one seems to understand that it isn't _my_ fault! I didn't _ask_ to become a werewolf! And then, I finally find a place to stay – a nice family and all, who really need a tenant, and it was a good price, too – and then it turns out that this bloke's boss at the bleeding Ministry finds out and threatens to fire him. Obviously, I can't stay there. If I can't even get a place to live, how can a get a bloody job? Basically, I have had all my hope sucked out of me today and my friends are not really friends, 'cept maybe Dean, and…" Lavender took a deep breath, then paused, "…that's it, really." It felt good to get that all out, although rants tended to make her string her thoughts together a lot and drain her. Lavender wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Though the matter was serious, the witch couldn't help but crack a grin at the overwhelmed, flabbergasted expression appearing on Harry Potter's handsome face. "Told you that you wouldn't want to hear it all," Lavender informed somewhat pointedly.

There was a moment, where the thick melange of city sound seemed to consume the awkward silence. Harry was fixated on the wrought-iron table, tracing the flowered pattern with a finger. She, on the other hand, carefully studied the cracked pavement. "You could stay with Ron and me," Harry broke out abruptly. "I mean, we have an extra room in the flat, and if you really want to you, you could pay a few Galleons a month. It's off of Diagon Alley."

Lavender gaped. "You don't even _know_ me."

"You were in my House, you were in DA, you fought in the war…" Harry ticked the points off on a hand. "That's enough, isn't? I think it is," he added firmly. "There is only one problem though…"

"What is it?" Not another let-down, she hoped.

"Lavender, I'm not sure if the closet is large enough to fit all your clothes," the wizard said plainly. She could see the corner of Harry's mouth twitching as he attempted to keep a straight face. Lavender crossed her arms, a bit disgruntled.

"Thank you, Harry," the werewolf murmured, "I really appreciate it. You're very good at helping people out when they are in a tight spot."

"Hermione tells me I have a saving-people-thing," Harry said, looking a bit rueful. "But you are welcome. Now, come." Discreetly, Harry strolled to the back of a restaurant. Following quickly, Lavender wrinkled her nose at the smell of decay from the dumpster. While Lavender was fending off the fumes, Harry then pulled a slip of paper and pen from his pocket and wrote something down. "Read it."

_731-80 Eyre Way_

Inexplicably, the image of an old, grey building snuck into Lavender's thoughts. It was so vivid, she could even see the roughly hewn cobblestones of the quaint street. He did not wait for her regain her balance. "Apparate to the place you saw," Harry ordered briskly. "I'll follow you." Unsurely, Lavender nodded before hurling herself into the nothingness of Apparation.

Harry Potter sent one more cursory glance around, before following.

-

The room was comfortable, lined with shelves of books around the hearth. Hand-woven rugs covered the maple floor, their red and gold colours complementing the rich brown of the sofa and armchair. The werewolf set her things next to the armchair, taking in the plush flat. For being rather thick boys, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter had some magnificent decorating sense. In reality, the young woman mused, a female relative must have taken care of it. Her thought was quickly affirmed. A slender young woman shot around the corner, her long red braid swinging lazily behind her. Ginny Weasley. A gangly figure followed Ginny around the corner very leisurely. Ron. The siblings both stopped short, seeing Lavender.

"Lavender Brown?" Ginny asked incredulously, though knowing the answer. Of course, she had every right to be puzzled. "What are you doing here? Harry never tells anyone how to Apparate here – only Floo, and even that is screened."

"Don't worry about it Gin," Harry responded warmly, appearing out of nowhere. He sidled up to Ginny, happily wrapping an arm around her. The couple seemed to light up immediately in the other's presence. Lavender couldn't help but smile at the scene. "No one is letting Lavender rent a place because of her lycanthropy, so I thought we could just let her have the extra room." To her surprise, Ron nodded in agreement. Lavender had never heard anyone talk about her condition with such ease.

Lavender noticed a flicker of emotion flit across Ginny's face before it quickly became strangely neutral. The younger witch smiled brightly – was it too brightly? – and nodded towards to Lavender genially. "If you need anything, you can come to _me_, too, not just those slobs," she commented defiantly, jerking her head towards Harry and Ron. "I'll see you later, Ron, Harry," Ginny added, almost in afterthought, then Apparating. Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry, who merely crossed his arms, looking rather stoically at the spot where Ginny vanished. Harry remained silent.

"I told you, Harry. Bad idea," Lavender muttered. "Now Ginny is furious that you are letting girl _that isn't her_ stay, _especially_ when you knew she wanted to stay with you and Ron! She is your girlfriend, you know, Harry Potter. Did you even _think_ of asking her before you took me on as your charity case?" The witch realised that for every nice thing that happened to her, something else would inevitably burst her bubble. Ron, too, looked like was going add to her statement, but the stormy expression on his best friend's countenance quelled that urge. Lavender, usually perceptive of such things, didn't notice. The werewolf burst out emphatically, "I'll just get my bags, okay? And then everything will be fine and lovely and…"

"And where willyou go?" Harry interrupted, eyes flashing.

She paused slightly. "I suppose I could go to the Leaky Cauldron. Home, too, maybe, but things may be a little tense there, right now…" Lavender rose and straightened her robes conscientiously.

Harry stood as well, and though the wizard wasn't as tall as Ron, he seemed to loom over Lavender. "How long do you think you can live there, Lavender?" he asked hotly. "Just because you _think_ Ginny doesn't like you does not mean anything. That is not a good reason at all. You know perfectly well how hard it will be staying out there by yourself." What he didn't say was that Lavender needed Harry's reputation to make way for herself. Briefly, the young woman could see a different, older Harry Potter; not the innocent, scrawny first-year or the rebellious, determined Harry that defeated Voldemort. Ron, who had been leaning against a wall, was slowly slinking away from the scene. For once, he realised that intervention would make the situation worse.

"I am not _poor_, Harry Potter," the witch snarled wolfishly in return. "I do not _need_ the Saviour of the Wizarding World saving _me_. And I have great reasons for leaving." Lavender didn't quite understand why she was feeling so utterly livid all of a sudden. Did this happen to werewolves often?

Harry looked at her darkly. "Mind telling me what this wonderful reason is?" the wizard demanded. His hands were clenched at his sides. The Boy-Who-Lived never thought he'd ever get so riled up with a _girl_. But hell, she was absolutely infuriating.

"I don't want to ruin someone else's relationship, okay?" Lavender snapped. "Look what I did to Ron and Hermione? I let him date me to prove some bloody point where they could have been off snogging themselves. It made Hermione _cry_ herself to sleep, some days. I wasn't thick, Harry. And I let the fling go on, hurting her _more_. Do you think I like all of that?" She paused, sending the frozen Ron, who was listening intently, an apologetic look. "Staying here will just hurt you and Ginny both in the end because I'll always be that reminder that she can't live with you. Besides, I hardly _know_ you!" Hesitantly, Lavender broke the real reason, "Seriously, Harry, living here means that your reputation will rub off on me. Although that will break some barriers for me, no one is going to look at me for who I am; they will just look at _you_. I can't have that." How poetic. She shook her head, sighing. "I just can't. I need to be self-reliant."

"Lavender—"

"I better get going now, before it gets any darker." The werewolf grabbed her bags from near the sofa and stalked out of the flat, her heart pounding against her ribcage and feeling a little hollow. The click of the door shutting seemed so final. Harry stared after the witch, perplexed. That wasn't supposed to end like that, either.

Ron looked through the window, watching Lavender's petite figure melt into the cloak of night. "I have got to hand it you, Harry," he commented, almost admiringly. "You know how to get girls anything but happy." The redhead snickered, ducking a swipe Harry made in his direction. "Good job, Harry Potter!"

-

_Author's Note_: It hardly feels like I have any free time anymore, so I would like to thank everyone for being so patient with the slow update! This was one of those necessary, moving-the-story-ahead chapters. Hence, it was a little shorter than the previous chapters. Oh! If anyone can pick up the significance of Harry's flat number, let me know. (For some of you wonderful Harry fans, it will be extremely easy!) As usual, reviews and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


	7. Wolfsbane, Awry

_Author's Note_: Since this update is after almost a year, I feel some author's notes are necessary. I apologise for the terrible, long wait. I was actually very stuck on this chapter and couldn't bring myself to write it, because I felt I had been uncharacteristically dramatic and out of character in the last chapter. I think I have regained some of my mojo It has been your words – all of your words – that have genuinely inspired me to break this writer's block and continue with Lavender's story. Thank, you reviewers. My style, I think, has changed over this past year and it may reflect in my writing. I hope it is for the better!

Also, I know there are specific times you have to drink the Wolfsbane, but for the story's sake, let's just say you can drink it before the transformation, ha.

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Feel free to leave your remarks in a review!

--

VII. Wolfsbane, Awry

He moistens his dry, chapped lips, staring intently at the thin, neat scrawl on the parchment. Just when the words gain meaning, the careful lines become indistinct patterns of ink in front of his sleepy eyes. The wizard's head nods slightly, but jerks up suddenly. It is five days before the full moon and Neville Longbottom is still studying. He has been since near the end of the school year, in secret, but some of his old uncertainty is returning. Neville closes the small, black book and looks at it with a surprisingly neutral expression. The former Gryffindor reads the curling silver script across the front for what seems the millionth time. _Severus Snape_.

It took Neville ages to face the book, to accept help from a man who made his school years miserable. But sometimes, Neville almost thinks it would have been easier if Snape were actually around. That way he wouldn't have to worry about bungling it up. That way the war wouldn't have seemed so real. The wizard can almost hear Snape's sharp words echo in the back of his mind. He wonders what it would be like if he wasn't a war hero, if Snape had lived, if Harry hadn't acted. Those thoughts are quickly brushed away. Neville glances at the clock. Half past twelve. He stifles a yawn and opens the slim volume once more. Fifteen more minutes, he tells himself.

But the words blur into each other once more, and Neville leans closer over the page, hoping the words on the page will focus. They don't.

Morning finds Neville with his face plastered against the parchment, trying to learn by osmosis.

-

It was nearly eight in the evening when Lavender arrived at Hogwarts. Though worse for wear, the school stood tall, almost as a testament to the lives that had been lost in its corridors. Lavender felt an irrational surge of pride; a pride to have been a part of those final moments of wild abandon regardless of fear or bravery. She had never considered herself a particularly brave person, but in that struggle, it truly didn't matter. Everyone had given it their worth for they knew it was their last chance.

The doors seemed immense and alone, now. Lavender couldn't recall ever seeing a door handle. 'Was there a doorbell?' she mused, crossing her arms. Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, the doors opened. The Gryffindor knew a little about the castle responding to its boarders; this, like the Room of Requirement, seemed to be another facet of Hogwarts' mysterious nature.

Or, this is what Lavender assumed as she stepped into the main hall.

"I am so glad that the spell worked. See, there's a special spell that controls how and who can open the main door these days. Prof—er, Headmistress McGonagall added me to the list since I am here the whole summer!" There was a touch of glowing pride in the earnest voice. Lavender recognised it right away: the voice belonged unmistakably to Neville Longbottom. Neville stood in the center of the hall, hands on his hips, and grinning broadly. "Hullo, Lavender, I hope you've been keeping well!" he greeted her, walking forward to give her warm hug and vigorous handshake.

"Oh, you know, as well as I can be," Lavender replied as airily as possible, gesturing a hand vaguely. Her words rang falsely against the stone walls. She ignored it, and studied Neville, her housemate and the D.A. leader, carefully. He has filled out, she noticed appreciatively, observing the healthy body on a suddenly tall frame. A certain boyishness remained in his face, she decided, and that was endearing. Also, Lavender could tell that he hadn't mastered his growth spurt just yet; Neville was all angles and awkwardness. "It seems you've been doing well yourself," she added, smiling slowly. He blushed brightly but then grinned broadly at the compliment.

"Yeah, er, well, thanks! I've been our here for most of the summer, you see. I helped with the rebuilding and then, yeah, I started studying the Wolfsbane Potion." Her smile faded as she remembered why she was there. Neville looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, Lav, didn't mean to bring it up. Er, McGonagall is waiting for us in the dungeons, actually." The dungeons, so that was where she would be housed. Lavender faltered for a moment as she followed Neville before continuing their small talk.

-

McGonagall smiled at her warmly. "Ah, Ms. Brown, good to have you back, although I wish it were under better circumstances. I have been monitoring Neville's progress with the Wolfsbane, and I must say, he has done a satisfactory job." Lavender's former Head of House gestured to a smoking cauldron. Nevill beamed at the compliment. Lavender suddenly felt a bit hopeful. The Wolfsbane was going to make things less painful, wasn't it? She didn't want to hurt anyone, either. McGonagall continued, "You will stay down in one of the rooms tonight. Neville and I will remain down here to keep you company and make sure things run smoothly." She paused and looked at her watch, "Hmm, it's about dark now, time to drink."

Neville was already prepared with a flagon. Lavender sniffed it distastefully but downed it nonetheless. It was bitter and reminded her somewhat of bile. She couldn't help but make a face. "Uh, excellent stuff, Neville," Lavender coughed with a weak smile. McGonagall looked amused.

-

Lavender feels the shadow now. It twists around her limbs, clinging to her skin with tendrils of fear. Her heart burns in those moments of anticipation, thudding so solidly against her ribcage that she fears her heart will fall out. She pushes her back onto the dungeon wall and presses her sweaty palms against the cobble floor for support. Her hand slips, and Lavender doesn't know what else she can hold on to. She feels like a plant without roots, a ship without a port. Lavender drifts on a sea of nausea and the blind fear of ignorance.

There is no window in her room, her prison, but Lavender can see the moon, the cursed orb, dangling precariously in the sky. It is not the time, no, but it is there and she senses it. Distractedly, she fumbles for the novel she brought with her. The words only pass across her glossy eyes and Lavender leafs through pages listlessly. Lavender can hardly meet McGonagall's from the other side of the bars. The Headmistress stands erect and without a hint of emotion, though inside, she is in a tumult of sorrow and compassion. Neville is next to the Headmistress, his boyish face aged with worry. Lavender notices that she has dissolved into tears, hysterics being the only emotion she can cling to solidly and senselessly. Still, she waits.

It comes. Lavender can feel the sensuous swell of the moon appear. It is heavy against her chest. She expects pain, but it comes in an unexpected white heat. The heat soars through her pumping veins, consuming her from the inside. She thinks her skin will peel, simply leaving bare muscle and ligament; a healthy coat of fur crawls up her arms, or her paws. Lavender's body caves to the floor, stretching and gaining firm footing on all fours. The dark fur races up the scars on her back and neck, and Lavender torturously experiences the sinew and bones breaking into their new forms.

The sound struggles against her throat. An inhuman scream roars from her twisting, changing vocal chords. She screams, she screams.

The moon is full.

-

Neville stares. McGonagall reaches for her wand, her free hand clenched. "Neville, out," she orders firmly, wand arm perfectly poised. Neville moves to protest, it is his project, his duty, his friend, but the witch fixes him with such a fierce stare, that the words die on his lips. The Gryffindor runs out of the dungeons, chest heaving and heart falling. The young man can hear the flurry of soundless spells, and then, all is quiet. He sinks against the wall, numbly sliding to the floor into the arms of Failure. His eyes are dry but inside, he aches for some release of emotion.

Her eyes.

Neville can't get rid of the impression of her eyes, that transformation from fearful to feral. Eyes that did not recognise him. Neville remembers the hunger, the bloodlust radiating off her, no, the werewolf. He slips a black book out of his pocket and traces the glittering script obsessively with a trembling finger. Neville knows something went wrong and the book abruptly reminds him of all his flaws. He kicks the diary and watches it skid across the floor.

He buries his face in his hands, trying to forget those lustful, foreign eyes.

-

Observations: the wolf crashes against the barriers of steel and magic, foam dripping from the creature's angular jaw. It whines as it realises the consequence of the action, pain. The werewolf pauses and studies the trickle of blood on its matted wound. It licks it. The metallic taste of blood only makes the werewolf grow wilder and she crashes against the bars once more. The bars had been spelled for strength long ago, and McGonagall curses internally, wishing she had reinforced it. Still, she is not worried, for the barriers she added (and the additional _Silencio_) would protect her from any harm.

But there wasn't much she could do to protect the werewolf from itself.

The wolf snaps the bars of cell with a final show of brute force, still eyeing McGonagall with particular hunger. McGonagall, having never seen a female werewolf before, is briefly astonished by the display. She vaguely recalls a conversation with Lupin (Merlin keep his soul), where he mentioned a seemingly minor detail – female werewolves tend to be more ferocious. Strange, she muses.

She continues standing, watching.

-

The werewolf bleeds and paces, scratches and crashes with the wall. She howls in pain, but the howls are silent from outside the cell. It is a wretched sound of anguish and anger. She is hungry and wants to quench her thirst, was that wrong?

Eventually, the moon ebbs and there is only Lavender, unconscious, bruised, and naked. McGonagall is already there, covering her with a blanket.

McGonagall realises that something must have gone wrong with the Wolfsbane Potion. Strange, she again thinks, I examined it myself. She retreats from the dungeon, taking the secret passageway from Snape's office to her own. To keep her hands busy, she brews a strong cup of tea to quell her worry. Lavender isn't a student she knew very well, but McGonagall always has a special spot for all the Gryffindors from her time as Head of House.

Holding her mug with both hands, she quietly watches Albus Dumbledore's sleeping portrait and counts the minutes until daylight. The tea grows cold.


End file.
